


Kids in this Town

by jdphoenix



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re bluffing.”<br/>He is. He really, really is.<br/>Frankly his only hope right now is that someone misses Lydia before Stiles kills them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kids in this Town

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I know absolutely nothing about medicine and how much a well-maintained, adult, male body can take. Other than that, if you can't handle the show you probably shouldn't read this.

The girl is waking up.

“Lydia? Right?” Rafael asks as she blinks awake. His voice is pitched low, the perfect balance to carry across the room to her but not be heard outside. He hopes, anyway. “I need you to stay calm. We’re gonna make it out of this but you’ve got to keep your head.”

There’s a brief moment where he thinks she’s going to panic. Her eyes go wide as they sweep over the dark, dank room, over him. There are tall, wide windows over her head but there’s  not much moonlight getting in around the building next door and even less making its way past the grimy glass. Still, the shine running down his left side can’t be anything but blood, not with a quarter-inch wide hoop strung through his shoulder.

The panic disappears from her face quick enough though. Rafael runs through all he knows about Lydia Martin in his head. She was there with Scott and Stiles when they found Kira. She’s the only person he knows of who escaped that serial killer who was terrorizing this town just a few short weeks ago. (The same one Stilinski is convinced has nothing to do with what’s going on now despite no arrests and an extremely open case.) She’s also the one who found the first body. Not to mention she was mauled by a wild animal at a school dance and went missing for two days. She’s seen some shit.

“It is Lydia, isn’t it?” Rafael asks as gently as he can.

She nods absently. She’s already begun testing the give on the handcuffs holding her in place. Good girl.

“Please tell me you’ve got a bobby pin on you,” he says.

She gives him an _are you serious_ look. “Of course not,” she hisses. Then, with a smile, she adds, “But I am wearing earrings.”

She has to slide down on the dirty floor to reach her ears. Despite all Rafael knows about her, he’s still impressed that she doesn’t complain or whine over her ruined skirt.

“Okay, it’s gonna be tricky since they’re separate pieces of metal and you’re attached to the lock but--”

“I do know how to get out of handcuffs,” she says in a way that makes him wonder just what they do to the kids in this town. She’s busy with the earrings between her hands. She might be twisting them together but he can’t quite see.

“Good,” he says and leaves her be.

The place is an old, abandoned theme restaurant just off the highway. The sun-faded sign at the turnoff proclaimed it _Davy Jones’ Locker, you’ll think you died at sea_. That A+ marketing campaign is probably why it went under. Most of the good stuff is gone - carted off by the owners, creditors, or thieves - but the bigger stuff’s still here, old bits of boating paraphernalia that are too much trouble to move and too difficult to offload this far from the coast.

Lydia’s cuffed to an old anchor and there’s half a boat hanging from the far wall. A few feet from Rafael, too far to reach, lay the remains of a stuffed swordfish that looks like it got dropped when someone tried to take it down. The hooks hanging over Rafael’s head probably supported more stuffed fish - because the dead relatives of your meal hanging over your head is just what you want when you go out to eat - but now there’s a chain hanging from them. It’s so big Rafael could fit a hand through one of the links. The hoop going through his shoulder is attached to it, forcing him to sit military-straight or tear at the wound.

The blood loss isn’t so bad, it’s the pain that’s getting him. Every little movement - just _talking_ for god’s sakes - is enough to pull the hoop away from one side or another of the wound. “Good. When you get out, you’re gonna have to find a way out of the building on your own. He took our phones but if you turn right at the road, there’s an emergency callbox about a hundred yards down.”

“I could get that chain down,” she offers.

“No,” he says a little too loudly. The chain holding the hoop up has to weigh at least fifty pounds. Even if she could get it down from the hook it’s hanging on, it’d start the bleeding up again _and_ he’d have to carry the damn thing. “I’ll just slow you down.” He smiles as best as he can at her. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid. You were wandering around out here all by yourself…”

She actually returns the smile before going back to the earrings. “Yeah. I do that a lot.”

Something crashes. It’s a muffled sound from the kitchen at the back of the building. Rafael holds up a hand to Lydia. They can hear footsteps drawing closer, the soft sound of someone cursing under their breath.

Rafael forces himself to let go of the tension that threatens to tug at his shoulder but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off the kitchen door. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Lydia stuffing the earrings into the sleeve of her sweater.

“There’s something you should know-” he says and cuts off as a shadowed figure eases around the doorway.

Then, all at once Stiles is through it, a horrified “Lydia?” trailing behind him as he runs across the room. She recoils - maybe Rafael didn’t need to warn her about their attacker’s identity (seriously, what is up with the kids around here?) - and Stiles slides to a stop. He’s on his knees only inches from her. He looks like she just slapped him and he knows he deserved it.

“It’s me,” he says softly. “Lydia, I _swear_ ,” he adds more forcefully. “I woke up in a walk-in freezer just a few minutes ago - thank god there’s no power in this place - I don’t even know where the hell we are!”

Lydia relaxes if only slightly.

“Get away from her,” Rafael says. The teens turn to him as if they both only just realized he’s there. “Whatever she might have done we both know you’ve got a hell of a lot more reason to hate me.”

Stiles’ face crinkles in confusion and he looks a little green when his eyes rake over Rafael’s shoulder.

Lydia shakes her head. “You don’t understand,” she says quietly to Rafael, then turns away like that’s all he needs to know. “Do you have the keys?” she asks Stiles and gives her cuffs a shake. “Our cell phones?”

“He’s the one who locked us up!” Rafael yells.

Lydia gives him a sharp look, annoyed at him for interrupting again.

“No,” Stiles says apologetically and pats his clothes. “It must’ve hid them before…”

The smile she gives him might be the most disgusting thing Rafael has ever seen. He’s pulled people out of cages and seen them look to their former captors for guidance, approval, attention, but this is just a whole new kind of weird. How can she know Stiles locked them up but still expect him to just let them out so easily?

“Then there’s only one thing to do,” she says. Her eyes are closed as she inhales, a long, deep breath that expands her whole chest. Rafael has no idea what this has to do with getting out of here but Stiles clearly does. Lydia’s mouth eases open and Stiles is on her, mouth pressed to hers, one hand cupping her head as he tilts it back and the other grasping her side. The tension ekes out of her after a moment.

Rafael turns away. He wants to yell, to strangle Stiles, but he knows giving any sign that this little show bothers him will only lead to more of it. He still doesn’t know quite what’s going on and this little exchange has him wondering just whose side Lydia’s on and how much more she knows about this than he does.

He remembers coming to investigate this place, seeing someone through the fog. He called twice before getting close enough to recognize her and call by name, but each time Lydia only moved further away. She was hugging the side of the building, her ear pressed to the brick wall as she walked slowly along it. It wasn’t until he was right beside her that she heard him and jumped, nearly tripping into an alleyway in her surprise.

“Agent McCall,” she said.

“Are you all right? You didn’t seem to hear me.”

She looked crestfallen and glanced at the wall. “Were you calling me? … How long?”

“I don’t know, maybe thirty--” The “seconds” dropped off. There was a pinpoint of light over her shoulder, coming from the darkness of the alley. Before he could react he was hit, in pain with no control over his body. He fell and Lydia’s eyes went wide in horror. She saw the taser pins and began to turn. Before she could there was an arm around her shoulders and a syringe in her neck. Rafael blacked out after that, and only woke up when the hoop was pushing through his still-healing sword wound.

At Lydia’s gasp for breath he lifts his head. They’ve finally pulled apart. Stiles’ knee has settled between her legs and Lydia’s hands are grasping the arm holding her head.

Stiles smiles down at her and softly says, “You held your breath.”

The bliss vanishes from Lydia’s face. She lashes out, nails ripping at his sleeve and feet aiming for his groin. Stiles just manages to twist away in time, catching the blow on his thigh. Lydia manages to rip open his cuff and send the button skittering across the floor.

“You-!” she tries to yell but only ends up coughing in pain, curling in on herself.

Stiles squats down next to her, far too close, and runs a soothing hand over her spine. “The sedative I gave you comes with a hell of a dry throat, plus it’s supposed to cause some inflammation at the injection site. Can’t have you screaming for every wolf and fox and coyote and whatever the hell else has taken up residence in this town, can we? You probably won’t be able to talk much above a whisper for a few hours.”

“Then why,” she croaks, “did you kiss me?”

“The look on your face mostly. And also, he screams so _much_ when we’re around you. Did you hear him?” he asks so softly Rafael can barely hear. “When you were sleeping?” His fingers dance up her bare leg and she squirms away, putting as much space between them as the handcuffs and wall behind her will allow.

He did that before too. After chaining Rafael up, Stiles went to her and spent a good deal of time just hovered over her, occasionally touching her. At the time Rafael thought it was for him, a little show of violating a teenage girl just to piss him off, but now he wonders if there’s someone else involved in all of this.

“Stilinski!” Rafael yells just to get his attention off of her. “Listen, I get it. I really do. You wanna do what you can to help your dad before the end, but this? This isn’t gonna do him any good. Getting rid of me is only gonna sink him deeper. What do you think it’ll do to him when he finds out about what you’ve done? What do you think it’ll do to Scott?”

Stiles throws Lydia a conspiratorial look before pacing towards the door. “Big, bad wolf’s gonna be mad at me. You think he’ll finally get the balls to rip this throat out?” He tilts his chin back and strokes the length of his neck. Lydia closes her eyes like she’s the one with the impaled shoulder.

“Stiles! Think about what you’re doing!” Rafael pleads.

“You’re just trying to save your own skin. _It won’t work_ ,” Stiles sing-songs.

Rafael shakes his head despite the pain it causes. “I’m not. Don’t have to, actually. There are people already looking for me. They’ll find us soon enough.”

Stiles’ eyes dart between the window and the main entrance. “You’re bluffing.”

He is. He really, really is. He checked in with his superiors a full half hour before hitting this lead, they won’t know anything’s wrong until he doesn’t check in tomorrow night. As for the crack team at the Beacon Hills PD, there’s a reason he came out here alone. They don’t like him, he doesn’t like them, and he wasn’t in the mood for a passive aggressive ride-along. Frankly he’s hoping someone misses Lydia before Stiles kills them both.

“Stop it!” Lydia snaps as loudly as she can. Her voice sounds more or less normal now despite the low register. “Stop talking like him.”

Stiles rolls his eyes so far his whole body seems pulled with them. His expression, his posture, even the way he moves his hands changes in that one motion.

There was a case a few years back, a mob hit man by the name of Ray Thresh in Vegas. Rafael had a hell of a time cracking it because, in the end, there was the hit man and the showgirl. Ray and Rachel. The guy had multiple personalities - or so he claimed. Rafael maintains it was the asshole’s cover, a long con adopted just in case he one day got caught. Sure enough, he ended up with a cushy imprisonment - minimum security, a mattress comfier than the ones Rafael sleeps on most nights, and a pretty nurse bringing him all his meals. No one wants to go hard on the mentally ill, it’s just not PC.

This though … this Rafael believes. The shift between Stiles and this other person is so complete, he’d almost think this was some incredible look-alike. Much as he dislikes Stiles, there is no way he can reconcile the person standing before him now with the boy Melissa loves like a second son.

“Lydia,” Rafael says, “stop. Let me handle this.”

“Ohhh, tough FBI agent,” Stiles says. “Can you believe this guy? No clue how much trouble he’s in.”

“Leave her alone!” Rafael snaps. He’s gotta get control here, not only over the situation but over himself. Stiles has always known how to piss him off and now he’s hitting all the right buttons. “Don’t hurt her, all right?” he asks more calmly. “She’s your friend, isn’t she? I think whatever’s wrong with you, it’s started to affect your judgment.” Rafael decides to gamble, trust his gut, if only to buy time before whatever Stiles has planned. “Stiles? It _is_ Stiles, isn’t it?”

Stiles grins broadly, contorting his face into a Halloween mask. It’s still Stiles, but not quite real. “Someone’s catching on,” he says lightly to Lydia. “And I’m not going to hurt her, not one strawberry blonde hair on her head.” He reaches for her and she twists away before he can touch her hair.

“Liar,” Lydia murmurs.

“What was that?” Stiles asks.

“You heard me, you son of a vixen.”

“At least someone’s on the right page,” Stiles says gleefully. He catches her by the throat. “And for once, I’m not lying.” He lets her go and wanders back across the room, dominating the space as he talks. “Yes, Stiles is in love with you. Yes, hurting you would be oodles of fun. Yes, Agent McCall, I am not quite Stiles.”

“You’re not Stiles _at all_.”

“Now who’s the one lying?” not-Stiles snarls. “He’s here.” He taps his head. “Watching, listening, offering commentary. We _chat_.” His eyes rake Lydia. “We had a hell of a talk about you while you were out. One of us wanted to all sorts of sinful things to you…. The other one handcuffed you.”

The look of judgment Lydia levels him with could bury a man alive.

“He thinks about you a lot. While I was building that bomb he kept telling me you’d do it better.”

“You sent the bomb?” Rafael asks. He’s so shocked he doesn’t even realize he spoke until not-Stiles is looking at him.

“God, you’re slow.” Not-Stiles doesn’t even look at him when he says it, he’s so disgusted.

“So what?” Lydia asks, apparently not caring that Stiles killed several police officers. “You’re going to leave me alone because he wants you to? Stiles may be dumb enough to buy that but I’m not.”

Not-Stiles laughs. “I’m going to destroy everything Stiles ever loved just because hearing him scream while I do it gets me all tingly inside. But you? You I’m going to keep alive for one very specific reason.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve already given you a clue - thought you might like a riddle.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Rafael says. “Can I call you Stiles or would you prefer something else?”

“Stiles is fine,” he says pleasantly. To Lydia he adds, “Drives him nuts,” with a gesture to his head.

“Okay. I want you to really think, all right? About all you’ve done since your diagnosis. … You nearly killed your father, have you thought about that?”

Stiles or not-Stiles or whoever-he-is - he lets his head fall back. “Yeah, that was the _plan_ , but then the little brat managed to outmaneuver me. He’s clever.” He falls to a crouch in front of Rafael. “But then you knew that, huh? Too clever for you.” He smiles and delivers what would be a friendly slap to Rafael’s shoulder. “Glad you made it, by the way. You do most of my work for me. You’re just getting a little too annoying though, you know? No hard feelings.”

Rafael pushes down the pain and his dinner. “You outmaneuvered yourself,” he says stiffly as his blood pounds in his ears. “You’re sick. Your brain breaking down has caused some sort of psychological break. Stiles, you tried to kill your own _father_. A few minutes ago you talked about your best friend like he’s some sort of animal. You need help.”

“Can you believe-” Stiles cuts off as his eyes fall on Lydia. He smiles.

“I did it,” she whispers. She tears her eyes away from the anchor. “I brought you here.”

“No.” Stiles rises from his crouch to approach her. “No no no. She did, don’t argue with her, she’s smarter than you.” He turns back to Rafael with a gesture to his head. “Stiles is arguing. But he’s wrong,” he says to Lydia, “you did bring me here. You dragged Stiles’ soul back from death  and me along with it.” He bends down and presses his forehead to hers, nuzzles her intimately, and holds her chin tight to keep her from turning away. “How did it feel, Lydia? To finally touch death after you’ve been dancing around it so long? Did it feel good to hold him under the water, to watch the life leave his eyes? Did you see the blood? Did you realize it was from his nails digging into his palms because he didn’t want to fight back and hurt you? Did you cry, Lydia? Or did you only pretend to? …Did you want to do it again?”

Stiles’ torn cuff is swaying erratically. Rafael isn’t sure which of the two of them is shaking.

Lydia’s voice is steady when she asks, “What happens if I die?”

Stiles drops her chin and takes a step back. Rafael can’t look away from her hands. They’re holding tight to one hook of the anchor, the pads of her thumbs sliding over its dulled edges. It may not be sharp enough to break skin but with enough force it could impale a man - or a teenage girl.

“Maybe you drag me back with you,” Stiles says, his voice thick. “Maybe you die and don’t accomplish a damn thing other than that. Maybe you finish this, save countless lives. Maybe your mother will recover. Maybe Allison will understand why she had to lose every woman she loves in the same calendar year. Maybe the coroner will determine you were emotionally disturbed after those two days in the woods. Maybe Peter will laugh at your funeral.” He drops down so he’s on the same level as her. “But we both know what absolutely will happen. He told you himself. He will _literally_ -”

“Stop,” she pleads.

“-go out-”

“I told you-”

“-of his _freaking mind_.”

“-not to _talk like him!_ ” she screams. Her voice goes high and pained like feedback from a mic but she makes it to the end before pitching forward like a rag doll. She breathes heavily against the pain.

There’s an answering yell from outside. Rafael and Lydia both perk up in hopes of rescue but it’s Stiles’ “ _finally_ ” that keeps Rafael from yelling.

“‘Finally’ _what_?” he asks.

Stiles meanders towards the bisected swordfish. He’s right on top of it before he looks Rafael square in the face and says, “Finally Alan Thresh is here.”

Stiles drops to the ground, seemingly dead to the world, as the reality of the situation overcomes Rafael.

Lydia manages to get out a pained, “Who is-” before the front entrance is thrown open. Two heavy-set men walk through the door but it’s clear the first is the muscle. He sweeps the room before stepping respectfully aside. Thresh hands the muscle a briefcase as he follows.

“I put his brother away,” Rafael says. “Or was it your sister? I never got a clear answer on that.”

Thresh toes Stiles’ prone form before stepping casually up to Rafael and delivering a solid punch to his ribcage, just under the hoop. Another lands under his jaw, lifting him up. When he comes back down pain lightnings up his tailbone and flares around the hoop. The two sensations meet somewhere near his middle and he finally loses the burger he ate on the drive out here. It’s small consolation that he manages to get most of it on Thresh’s shoes.

Thresh doesn’t seem to mind. He wipes it off with kicks to Rafael’s side and crotch.

“Take the kids to the car first,” he says.

“No,” Rafael moans. “Leave the girl, at least.”

Leaving her chained up with Stiles is probably just as bad as letting them take her, but if he can get them to take Stiles there’s a chance the kid’ll drive them as crazy as he drives Rafael. He’ll likely be enough of a distraction that Rafael can get them both out of there and come back for Lydia - assuming she hasn’t been found or gotten out of those cuffs.

“Don’t be like that, McCall. We’ll show the girl a good time, won’t we?”

“Yeah, we will,” the muscle says. Just hearing him say it makes Rafael want to wash his ears out.

He tries to catch Lydia’s eye, give her some sign that he’s not giving up on either of them, that she should do everything in her power to escape while Thresh and his man are dealing with him. Her gaze is glued to the muscle though, fear hidden under a thin layer of rage and defiance. Suddenly she looks shocked. Her eyes close and she bites her lip. She looks like she’s a child holding her breath. A second later the muscle’s grey matter splatters the window above her head.

“The deal,” Stiles says, “was for Agent McCall. I very explicitly said to leave the teenagers.” He’s on his feet, holding what looks an awful lot like Rafael’s sidearm on Thresh.

Thresh has his hands in the air and a look on his face that says this is a minor inconvenience.

“You set this up, kid?” he asks.

“I’m older than I look.” After a moment Stiles says, “Well? Are you gonna take him or not? I have other lives to destroy.”

Thresh drops his arms. “Respect, kid.”

“Not a kid,” Stiles says but it’s clear he’s done with Thresh. He walks behind him towards Lydia and the corpse.

“Hold it,” Thresh says. “You killed my man and while I’m willing to overlook that since I was double-crossing you, I do need some help getting this piece of shit to my car.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. He slips Rafael’s gun into the back of his jeans while Thresh pulls the chain off its hook. It falls to the floor and takes Rafael with it. He cries out as his wound reopens. His one chance to escape disappears in a fog of pain. When he comes out of it Thresh is standing over him, one heavy foot planted firmly on his chest.

“So?” Stiles asks.

Thresh glances at him. “He had the zip ties.”

Rafael keeps his focus on Thresh. If there’s gonna be a chance to escape, he’ll find it there. That’s how he misses the real action. There’s a thud and a thump and footsteps dancing back. Thresh looks towards the windows and smiles slowly.

“You really think you can handle that, girly?” he asks.

Lydia’s voice comes from a far different location that before. Rafael struggles to tilt his head up so he can see just where she’s gotten to.

“I’ve brought two people back from the dead,” she whispers and manages to sound terrifying despite it, “- and apparently a psychotic, supernatural fox along with one of them - I think I’m owed a guilt-free murder.”

That, nonsensical as it is, seems to give Thresh pause.

“Go _away_ ,” she says. “You can try to kill Agent McCall in some other town, okay?”

Thresh lets out a harsh laugh but backs towards the door. He’s almost through it when Lydia calls out, “Leave your phone!”

Thresh drops it by the door without a fight. Lydia doesn’t lower the gun until they hear his car pull onto the road.

She handcuffs Stiles to the anchor first, then begins tearing the dead man’s jacket off.

“Good girl, Lydia. I really thought you’d do it for a second there.”

She kneels over Rafael and presses the jacket to his wound so hard he feels faint.

“I would’ve.” There’s no bluster, no defensive pride in the statement, just cool, clear determination. “Hold this.”

“Good,” he says, more to her going for the phone than her murderous intent. He’s starting to feel dizzy, like they really are at sea and the deck is swaying under him. “Call 911. Tell them there’s an officer down at - Davy Jones’ Locker,” he says wryly, “and that Alan Thresh is currently driving east on highway 74.”

Lydia lets out a small cough that he figures is her version of a scoff at the moment. “What abandoned restaurant were you chained up in? The nogitsune’s right, you _are_ slow.” Her tone shifts, the undeniable change of a person no longer talking to those present in the room. “Scott? Tell me Deaton’s still at the clinic too. … Good. Close the place down, call your mom, and then all three of you get your asses to that old Davy Jones’ restaurant outside of town. I’ve got Stiles handcuffed and your dad is in need of some serious medical attention. … Well, I don’t feel like screaming right now and other than the stuffed swordfish on the floor and the dead body by Stiles it doesn’t feel anything like a graveyard, so I think he’ll be okay. Just don’t pay _too_ much attention to speed limits, okay?”

She’s hovering over Rafael then - or maybe he passed out for a minute there. She’s pressing the jacket to the wound again. The phone is beside his head and Melissa’s voice is coming through it. It’s not the voice he loves, the one that laughs and curses him and calls him Raf and kicks him out of their house. It’s her nurse-voice, the one she uses when she’s trying to separate herself from the moment.

“Okay, okay,” Lydia says over and over. “Just get here.”

There’s a crackling and the call goes dead.

“Shit.”

“It’s fine,” Rafael says but it comes out groggy.

“Says the guy who lost consciousness twice in the last five minutes.”

“Came back twice.”

Her expression clearly says _don’t be cute._

“Lydia?” Stiles calls weakly.

Her fingers tense on his chest. He presses a hand over hers, a reminder that Stiles can’t hurt her now.

“Lydia,” he presses.

“I’m not letting you out.”

“I know. I know.…”

Rafael gives Lydia a small, proud smile. She makes a real effort to return it.

“You’ll have to tell me,” he whispers, not wanting Stiles to hear, “about your habit for wandering around abandoned buildings.”

Lydia’s face falls and she glances towards the dead body.

“Lydia?” Stiles asks. She turns quickly back to Rafael. “…I’m sorry.”

The phone rings. It blares some old Elvis tune as if Vegas gangsters have to seem like they just stepped out of an old photo. Lydia reaches for it, looking grateful for the distraction.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Stiles sobs.

Her hand fists over the ringing phone.

“I swear,” she says through gritted teeth, “if I wasn’t holding Scott’s dad’s shoulder together right now I would come over there and knock you on your ass, I don’t care which one of you is talking. Only one of you owes me an apology and he sure as hell wouldn’t mean it if he did. So don’t you dare say anything like that again.”

She answers the phone and Melissa continues walking her through his care. The tears he sees in her eyes are gone by the time Scott gets there.


End file.
